Grandfather clock strikes metronome,
stuck permanently in mute dying agony,
chiming an hour beguiling:
its temporal demise.
Avian scream,
materialized magically,
chirping it’s elegy
for a broken sequoia tower
that’s overspent its numerical tyranny.
If only you could fix this malady;
whirring contraptions
birthed from pursuing stars.
Who was I to claim time?
Dictating hours,
rousing phantom alarms—
every pulse claiming life.
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